


La Douleur Exquise

by FloraOne



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: 4 authors 1 trope, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Break-Up Arc, F/M, Post Sailor Stars, Sex Pollen, what if the break up arc never ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:19:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloraOne/pseuds/FloraOne
Summary: What if the Break Up Arc had never ended, all the way Post Stars? When Usagi and Mamoru stumble into a rift in time and space, filled to the brim with all-consuming lust, this break-up might pose a problem. Written for the Sex Pollen Challenge, aka 4 Authors 1 Trope.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> So… how come you get to read this now? A whole while ago, Antigone2 asked for smutty prompts on her tumblr. I replied with something along the lines of "Youma causes sexy-feels." – you, know, the good ol' sex pollen trope. A few months went by, until Antigone2 talked to me about it again, saying she hadn't forgotten it. After we talked about it a bit, she put the "4 authors, 1 prompt" idea on the table. And while it terrified me at first (because, you know, I prompted this to HER and now I'm writing it, too? but also got EXCITED, because it means I get to read this prompt THREE MORE TIMES while playing around with it myself?), here we are. Because, most of all, this trope is a challenge. It's one of the fun-est there is, and at the same time, seen from the consent lens, one of the most problematic. But damn did I have a load of ideas in my head for this, and turns out, it was extremely easy to write in the end – meaning, you're looking at 16k words that I wrote, if I calculate right, in the span of maybe 8 hours over 3 days. So, as difficult as this trope is, I definitely had ideas for it. Trying what I like to try: Take topics that can go problematic very fast and try to keep them sexy while chucking the problem. At least that was my goal. You tell me if I succeeded.
> 
> Anyway, so yeah. Technically, this story would fit into my Lemon Tree series. But I wanted it to stand alone, so people who read the other three BRILLIANT stories in this "4 authors, 1 prompt" extravaganza get to find it better!
> 
> Soooo. On with this show…. This is a "If this goes on"-type of fic: What if the break up arc never ended throughout canon. Thus, think canon convergence from the break up arc, years later – so, really, you're looking at a Post-Stars "What If" with the break up arc still intact, in a universe that was much harsher to them (and definitely went a little differently, since their love has helped them in canon through many a battle.)
> 
> Also, since the break up arc is all 90s anime!verse, this fic is, too, for the most part (just, y'know, all the things about the 90s anime I imagine would have turned out differently, if they hadn't been together for it! But don't dwell too much on it, lol, because I don't either.) So, anyway, no Manga!Mamoru means no active healing powers for Mamoru, and more jerkery and buried emotion.

"Ugnnn," Sailor Moon grunted, face twisted in pain. The odd-looking creature had struck her against the shoulder, drawing blood and sizzling black where the gooey substance had hit her way too deeply, and she catapulted her body out of the way on instinct, when her opponent got hit by a roaring dose of Sparkling Wide Pressure.

She hit the asphalt at… not the best angle, and cried out again.

All in all, this definitely wasn't her best day.

Ami shouted instructions and explanations. They went completely over her head. Something something anomaly, something something manifestation.

The good old, usual anomaly. The kind that had popped up regularly ever since the Black Moon Clan just disappeared all those years ago from one day to the next, along with that mysterious, strange little girl. The kind that Ami liked to describe as a 'paradox' – a mistake in time and space, an anomaly. Showing up again and again, soon almost since she could remember – not extremely hard to beat, not extremely threatening, and certainly not out of the ordinary kind.

Yet, this had caught them at a bad day, and in the middle of the night.

She propped herself up, saw the monster coming at her from the side – she guessed she was the weakest link today.

" _DODGE_!" she heard Mamoru's aggravated, exasperated, overall _angry_ voice.

It caused her to clench her teeth in a flare of irritation – as if she didn't _know_ , who does he think she _is_? For how many _years_ had she been doing this?!– and it caused her to react too slow.

He screamed her name - frustrated, angry, feral – and pushed her out of the way as if plucking her from the air. She'd jumped too slowly, and now she hit the asphalt again with her chin, as Tuxedo Mask fell on top of her, crying out along to her groan.

She smelled the sizzle of blood and goo. It came from his leg.

She released a sigh of relief, when she finally heard Rei's voice call out Flame Sniper – late, so late to the battle - and clenched her eyes shut against the wave of intense heat that set the creature aflame in agonized howls, and the stench of burning goo.

It fell to ash in moments. The smell lingered.

Guess _this one_ didn't like fire.

He clambered off of her immediately. She had to close her eyes against the rush of tears that threatened to flood her eyes – a mix of everything from pent-up frustration to the agony of feeling him flush against her like this, and the far worse agony to have it end.

She was such a hopeless, sad woman.

She groaned when she pushed her palms against the ground to lift herself up. Rolled her eyes when he, injured and all, knelt back down to help her up and hissed the air through his teeth when he took inventory of her injuries. Ever the doctor.

Well, this would certainly all bruise real hard.

He ripped his mask off – the way he usually did when she was injured and he needed to see better, even as Ami lowered herself down next to him with a flinch directed at her bleeding shoulder – a little marmalade glass full of monster ash already in her hand. Mamoru took his tuxedo jacket off, pulled his shirt from his pants.

Usagi swallowed, even when she didn't want to. Swallowed again, when the smooth skin of his stomach was bared to her eyes for just a second, as he ripped at the crisp, white section of cloth that had formerly rested against his abdomen.

"You're gonna need stitches, this time," Ami said in a small, apologetic voice towards the hole in her shoulder, while Mamoru dabbed white against red, and it all turned to red really fast.

"He's bleeding, too," Makoto remarked from the sidelines, arms crossed, fingers digging into her elbows.

Usagi's eyes flew to his leg, even when a hiss escaped her lips from the pain.

He was drip-drip-dripping blood onto the ground. A small puddle had already formed, and she gasped, and narrowed her eyes at the same time.

She pushed at him. He glowered.

Why did he always have to do this? Endanger himself because he didn't trust her.

"WHY THE _FUCK_ DID YOU DO THIS?!" she finally yelled at him, too late, too angry.

He understood, of course. Yelled right back. "WHAT? SAVE YOUR GODDAMN _LIFE_? AGAIN?!"

"UGHN!" she grunted, pushed at him again. Like a petty kindergartener, and he barely shook as he was moved slightly back, and pressed the cloth back to her bleeding shoulder with narrowed eyes and lips pressed into a thin line.

It _was_ bleeding rather hard.

But she was _angry_.

He always did this. Always overreacted, always pretended she was in mortal peril and yelled at her for it and _injured himself because of it_ – because he didn't trust her to do the job she'd been doing for the past _nine years._

She pushed again. Harder this time.

He fell back and cried out, and it pulled at her gut, but she glared at him, even when he glared at her much harder.

"Ami can do it," she spat out, and grimaced when she got up even under Ami's loud protest to not do so.

Ami was a doctor, too. In training, anyway. She didn't need to face Mamoru's condescending eyes.

She heard his frustrated, angry grunt, and his top hat being flung across the asphalt, when she hobbled away, steadied by Ami and Rei on each side.

She was out of earshot, but not eyesight, when she glanced back. Saw Makoto help him up.

"Is he gonna be ok?" she whispered. Her tone had dropped, turned sad. Defeated.

Ami nodded. "His is broad, but superficial. Nothing he can't take care of completely. The Golden Crystal will take care of it in a couple days. It might scar a little, though."

Usagi nodded.

"Yours will definitely scar," Rei said, voice angry and a little bit accusing, and Usagi nodded again. With a shrug, this time, and she cursed herself for the action immediately after, as it pulled at her shoulder. The Silver Crystal was great with injuries, too, of course. But the deep ones still were left behind to tell tales of battle in little, silver markings all across her skin. Most of them thin and delicate, some barely visible, almost faded, but a handful of others deeper, thicker, here to stay until she died.

Just then, Minako ran towards them. Transformed and ready, Artemis in tow. And she skidded to a halt with an apologetic look and then dawning horror when she took in Usagi's state.

"I'm _so_ sorry, guys, I—"

Yeah. She got that. This superhero thing was a bitch when one needed to adult.

Especially with your ex-boyfriend on the team who was constantly raging mad at you for every tiny mistake you made.

* * *

It was hard watching him. It was harder not to.

And it was so unfair. The universe was so absolutely _mean_. She could barely even remember the few short days they had had together, after… what had been the names of that alien couple?... and the day he'd told her he did not want to be with her just because Endymion had been. It was a shadow in her mind, and yet she could not shake him off, as if his stupid face was imprinted on her heart, a giant stamp on her soul that said, 'Just that guy. Forget about the rest'.

She could barely remember, and yet she couldn't forget.

He was her doom.

She learned she'd absolutely started to hate seeing him blush. It happened only seldomly – an attractive, flirting barista here, a forward co-ed there. And every time it happened Usagi felt like she'd lost him all over again.

It was hard to watch him. But she couldn't stop. She'd never learned how to stop.

Especially when... _years_ in, dates started to be on the agenda for him again. Not often, mind you. Once or twice a year. But often enough.

Some of them came and went. Others stuck around for a month or two.

Usagi hated the fact they were nothing like her. Sophisticated, adult women with sleek dark hair and perfect eyebrows and perfect everything, talking about Kant and organismic biology and book reviews about Pulitzer Prize winners, and he talked to them calmly with a straight face and none of that tease.

She hated them.

But she hated no one more than this one girl who broke out of the recipe. Blonde, extrovert, happy. She wasn't exactly like her, but yet... close enough, she guessed. She wore immaculate outfits, but they were bright and a little quirky. She talked about biodiversity and area-effects, but she stumbled over her words from time to time and got some of them wrong, and he corrected her with smirky smiles.

She wasn't exactly like Usagi - she was kind, but not loud. She was lively but never accidently impolite. She was open but never intrusive without meaning to.

Usagi felt she was everything she had brought to the table - but better. Smarter, more collected, more adult, more... more.

Oh, how she had hated that girl.

Yet... even her...

It broke Usagi's heart all over again when he flinched every time this girl would do anything that was... that level of _almost_ her, but not quite. As if he hated even every littlest reminder of Usagi.

The day she'd shown up with her hair in two stylishly low pigtails…

He had looked at her so appalled, it tore Usagi's heart out, and he'd informed the girl he would not be seeing her anymore with Usagi sitting only one booth away to witness the whole thing.

He could not stand to even be with anyone remotely like her - and it crushed her.

Ever since that day, years ago, when she was 14 and her reborn magical prince tore her heart out in his hallway to the backdrop of wilting roses, she'd clung to the belief that… if she would just study more, be more diligent, more graceful, more like Ami and more like Rei and more like... _this_ girl, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would like her then. Maybe she could get him back like that.

But he seemed to despise even a perfect version of herself.

There was no hope.

It was the day she'd accepted this. The day she'd - after years of this torture - accepted that the person she was born to love would never love her back.

It was freeing in a way. Even when she knew something in her had died.

And so, they'd settled into a routine. She no longer fought to get him back, and he, in turn, stopped avoiding her like the plague – even when she could see his smile was never the same again.

In fact, even the dates practically came to somewhat of a stop – at least a visible one – she'd supposed she just no longer saw them, once she wasn't on the lookout for them anymore, or maybe he was trying to be sensitive.

At least, they had been able to work mostly civilly together from then on. Even if it obviously irritated him that he had to keep the necessary contact.

But, whenever their conversations – after a battle, a team meeting, a chance encounter (and there were loads of those) – turned unexpectedly warm, almost sweet – the dates would show up in plain sight again. As if he needed to prove to himself there could never be any feelings for Tsukino Usagi – or maybe he felt he needed to prove it to her, lest she get ideas.

Like... like that one time. Her 19th birthday. Mina had insisted to set her up on a date with this guy she knew from her theatre rehearsals, insisting one ought to have a date on their 19th birthday (and their 18th and 20th and 22nd and really, all the birthdays). He'd been sweet, dancing with her in the club in Shibuya that Mina had all squirreled them into, joking with her, buying her drinks, and dipping her low on the dancefloor, causing her to giggle through most of the night.

She hadn't even known why Mamoru had showed up in the first place. But he had been leaning against the bar with Motoki at his side, chugging drinks as he glared at her from afar. Or maybe her date, she wasn't entirely sure.

Just that, way later, when she'd run into him on the way to the restrooms, and he'd looked so sexy in those skinny jeans and button down, and his eyes were a little clouded from the alcohol...

She'd been tipsy herself. She knew. Otherwise she wouldn't have curled her hands into his shirt like so, wouldn't have glided into his arms so seamlessly like that.

Just that... _that_ day, he didn't push her away. Instead, he held her tight. So, so tight, and so, so long, and she felt him bury his face into her hair on the crown of her head and inhale with a groan which in her cloudy, intoxicated memory had sounded almost needy in a way. They'd just... stood there. Hugging, his heartbeat thumping against her ear as she clawed her hands into his back, and she buried her nose into his warm, perfect chest.

He'd smelled so painfully like home.

He'd ended up pushing her away still, obviously. But it took him a while. In fact, Usagi supposed he'd most probably not even realized at first who it was he'd been hugging so tight, so long, drunk as he'd been, and pushed her away the moment he ultimately did remember.

Sure enough, it had taken him two days and she'd started seeing him _everywhere_ with one of those uber smart, uber sexy girls hanging from his arm, and he didn't speak a direct word to her for several weeks, except rude, annoyed directions in battle.

She sighed. _Don't worry, Mamoru. You've driven the point home that you wished you could do this whole deal without me._

Right now though, as she was watching him enter the café and greet one of Mako-chan's sweet colleagues behind the counter, he was doing none of these things.

She watched his walk closely, looking for a hobble, any indication on whether he was doing all right (her heart insisted to know) or that he was doing worse than her (her pride was loud sometimes, too), when he wordlessly sat across from her and smacked a newspaper on the table.

She jumped a little, started. Miffed that she, herself, couldn't keep the flinch off her face as the movement pulled at her stitches.

And how his eyes flashed when she did.

They turned soft, so soft, as he blanched, for a second, and inhaled sharply.

She blinked and fell into a frown – it seemed to break the momentary spell, and his eyes narrowed again.

"Have you seen this?" he asked instead, stabbing the paper with an obnoxiously elegant, long finger.

Why must everything on the man be friggin' perfect.

The paper was folded neatly, peculiarly, to a page that discussed two people in a coma. High schoolers.

She blinked when she glanced across the page, and her father's name caught her eye as the author of the article.

They'd been found naked. Two friends in a park. Comatose. Locked in a ... compromising position.

Usagi blushed bright red and stopped reading. She missed the way Mamoru's hand started to clench and unclench as she did.

It was the park that Ami had located that latest rift in.

But...

She frowned.

"Ask your father about it," he said, voice a little raspy. And as he so often did, he immediately got up, left the booth without a goodbye, raised a hand in greeting towards Makoto who walked in as if on cue and turned around as he passed her by. She stopped to shout something after him that Usagi couldn't hear but probably was sweet - because this was still her Mako-chan, and she was _always_ sweet. He raised a hand over his back, kept going.

Always on the run from her. Never a second too long in her proximity.

Usagi sighed, wrapped both hands around her creamy, trusty, thick cookie milkshake. But when Makoto slipped into Mamoru's vacated spot, Usagi couldn't keep from lowering her forehead to the tabletop. It hit the wood with a hollow thud.

She heard Makoto's deep sigh, felt a gentle, strong hand pat her head, stroke softly between her hair buns and along her scalp, soothing as if Usagi were an injured kitten.

"It's gonna get better one day," Makoto said - softly, full of pity, absolutely automatic.

She'd been saying it for nine years.

"I bet Minako could set you up on another date?" Makoto said, and Usagi could just imagine the flinch-y little smile that carried through her voice.

Usagi shook her head, forehead moving against the cool wood, and sighed again.

* * *

Usagi shifted the clear files full of paper clippings and transcripts under her arm, as she moved to unlock the door to her and Mina's apartment. It was a little harder with the paper stack clamped beneath her armpit, and several plastic bags hanging from her wrist, so she struggled a bit.

She nearly dropped it all, when Mamoru opened her door from inside.

She blinked.

He cleared his throat, and moved to relieve her of the bags, while she still stood frozen with her key in the air.

His skin brushed hers when he slipped the plastic off her wrist, and she scrunched her eyes shut momentarily before she shook out of it.

He cleared his throat once more, and his voice seemed a little dry when he spoke. "Sorry, I'm early."

She nodded, moved with even less grace than usual since she was now conscious of every fibre of her body so close to his, when she moved her arms out of her coat, flung it across the low dresser in her genkan with the files, and bent down to unclasp the flap of her cute but impractical heels.

He fidgeted a little – eyes first on her legs, and immediately anywhere else.

"Minako let me in…"

She nodded, and it took her a little while to free her feet from their confines, and he'd already started towards the kitchen. Always fleeing from her…

His voice came from within when she padded after him a moment later.

"You bought too much, again."

She rolled her eyes. Swallowed thickly when she realized again how tiny her kitchen was when Mamoru filled it out.

She usually loved it. The tacky wallpaper they'd attached to the ancient kitchen cabinets, the funky, childish kitchen gadgets strewn around the little space they never actually used, but which made the room a happy place.

Whenever Mamoru stood in it, in felt like mockery. It was so easy to imagine him being here for different reasons…

He unpacked the bags of snacks and boxes of instant food she'd carried home. Instant ramen in all sorts of flavors and colorful cups, but also instant yakisoba in slightly bigger packages, and steaming bags of nikuman. All the world of instant noodle and dough that Lawson had on offer for her tonight, plus several boxes of individually wrapped popsicles.

This time Mamoru rolled his eyes. It was November, after all.

Usagi crossed her arms across her chest. Too afraid she'd accidently reach out as he moved around the place as if he lived here, opening up cabinets, reaching inside to extract bowls and chopsticks and glasses, opening bags and pouring chips and opening her tiny and way too full freezer compartment to push the popsicles inside with an annoyed sigh.

"Where's Minako?" Usagi asked, her voice a little tense. She opened the freezer door just as he'd closed it, just to spite. The box basically fell towards her, and he shook his head when she started unwrapping one and left the rest on the counter.

"Said she had an important, last-minute errand to run." He shrugged, took the box, and opened the freezer back up, and stuffed it back in. His eyes flicked peculiarly to the popsicle, and her lips, as she moved it to her mouth, only to immediately look away, clearing his throat. "But I guess she just didn't want to be alone with me."

Ahh. Right. Makes sense. Usagi nodded, even when Mamoru couldn't see it. He'd turned his back to her and filled up her kettle even though the girls where nowhere to be seen yet. Obviously watching her eat this thing was not among his favorite sights in the world.

She sighed. Her eyes flicked to the red numbers of the digital clock on her microwave. Twenty more minutes until the girls would arrive.

They'd moved their weekly Wednesday senshi meetings here, ever since Minako and Usagi had moved in together. Reasoning that it made sense, since both of them were the ones who were notoriously late – not that that reasoning always worked out (one could be late to everything, also going home!), but it did more often than not. And since Mako-chan had the spare key anyway, it had been decided.

Usagi's wildly beating heart, every single time, wasn't really sure what she felt about the fact that Mamoru was always rather early for _anything_. It meant they'd been having these few moments alone – whenever Minako was out, and she was out a lot more on Wednesdays than usual, or she made herself incredibly busy with lame excuses and loud fake phone calls from her room.

And while he had quickly learned to busy himself in her apartment, setting up everything for the meeting that neither she nor Minako usually managed, Usagi was left to stand around and keep herself from staring at his butt.

"How's your shoulder?" he asked, awkwardly, back still turned to her. He'd started to do her week-old dishes.

She shrugged. It had healed to an angry little, puckered line. Ami had removed the stitches only yesterday. In a week or two it would pale.

She pulled the popsicle from her mouth with a little pop.

"What's another scar?" she said nonchalantly.

Her dishes clanked loudly, when the spoon he was cleaning fell from his soapy hands into her favorite ramen bowl. Usagi jumped a little, startled.

"Don't say it like that," he almost growled.

She rolled her eyes once more.

"How's your leg?" she asked, instead, and popped the ice pop back into her mouth.

It was his turn to shrug. "It healed up."

She nodded.

There they were, then. All their small talk used up. Usagi felt the silence like a thick veil.

Sucking that popsicle suddenly sounded incredibly loud in her ears, and she saw his shoulders tense.

"Did you talk to your father?" he said a little while later, as he rinsed the last bowl and put it on her drying rack.

She nodded. "Yeah," she said. "He's been busy."

There'd been multiple cases since Mamoru had first dropped the article on her. Her father had worked every single one, lucky for her.…And he did love Usagi's routine lunchtime visits to his office to bring him Mako's homemade bento, gushing how caring his daughter was in stressful times as these, and Usagi did feel slightly guilty, since she was mostly doing it to steal his intel and press him for info.

Mamoru nodded, wiped his hands on the flowery dishtowel Usagi couldn't quite remember last replacing it, really, if ever.

"Anything new?" he asked, awkward as ever. It was a redundant question – they were going to talk about it in – she flicked her eyes up to the clock – thirteen minutes anyway. He didn't know what to say, either. So, she indulged him.

"Lots," she said. "And Ami's doing her third scan as we speak. Luna and Artemis are with her. They'll be a little late."

He nodded.

"How's—"

He was interrupted, and Usagi was a little glad. That question usually ended with things like, 'How's the job search', and 'How's the office, still hate it?', and neither were things she particularly wanted to talk about. Especially with Mr. Always-Successful.

Minako barged in, skirt flaring, holding up the latest case file accusingly, shaking it. "What, we just leave stolen evidence in the hallway now?"

Usagi flinched, shrugged her shoulder and lifted up her hands in an apologetic gesture, packing all the nonverbal meaning of 'what can I say, my brain turns to mush when he's around, why do you leave me alone with him anyway?' into her eyes that she was capable of.

But Minako already paid her no mind again. Instead she leafed through the file, started reading, and absentmindedly opened the freezer. She took a popsicle from the box and left the box on the counter.

Mamoru sighed exasperatedly, even when Minako had already left the room.

It was hard to stifle her giggle, and so she grabbed two bowls of snacks, jammed a big bottle of milk tea in between her elbow, and carried them out into their tiny living room, even when she heard her freezer door being shut with somewhat of a louder push.

A key turned in her lock again, and Makoto entered with Rei in tow. Usagi moaned at Makoto in greeting, as she carried fluffy, perfect, leftover goodies from the café, with the kind of deep, belly moan that made Mamoru stiffen somewhat. By the time everyone had settled in, Mamoru had filled up the instant ramen cups with water from the kettle, Usagi had her cheeks covered in powdered sugar, and Minako had declared the senshi meeting on the 'Sex Pollen Case' open.

Usagi scrunched up her nose mid-chew, even as Rei exaggerated the very eye roll that Mamoru tried to hide.

"Are we calling it that?" Makoto asked. "Doesn't that sound, kinda…"

"Insensitive? Ridiculous?" Rei threw in.

Minako rolled her eyes and attached specific pages from the files to their big living room window with Totoro washi tape.

She heard Mamoru sigh behind her. He'd long ago given up pointing out that taping stolen evidence to a window with the lights turned on at night _in general_ might not be the best idea. But the place was tiny, the window faced a highway bridge, and Minako kept saying he was paranoid.

She knew the pages, of course. She'd pickpocketed them herself, practically one by one, out of her father's office, copied, and replaced them. What was new, mostly, was Mina's slightly illegible, slightly pretty handwriting all over them in all the colors of the rainbow. It was her job to get the evidence, Minako's to make sense of it.

And she usually did.

The first column of documents taped to the left side of the window were parts of transcripts of witness-interviews of those that could _see_ that weird bubble (that at least _some_ people claimed to have seen along the rift Ami had identified) when it popped up, but nothing had happened to them.

The second column where a conundrum of hospital statements, witness statements, clippings of her father's articles with heavily underlined paragraphs, and highlighted interview transcripts of one of the two people who had woken up from their comas in the beginning of the week. Of which – Usagi was especially proud of that – Usagi had even managed to get a copy of the original audio file – her father had left the USB stick in the computer when he headed to the vending machine to get more coffee. So, overall, the actual victims. And to say these made her blush was an understatement.

The third column were notes on Ami's area scans.

At last, Minako taped the newest evidence over the victim column – no notes on them, yet, obviously. Her father had interviewed witnesses for the latest victims last night only this morning.

"Two more?" Makoto asked, concerned.

Usagi nodded solemnly, but she couldn't keep the blush from her face.

These two new additions to their macabre collection were an extraordinarily young professor and her student TA. They'd been discovered right away – just as they had touched the weird 'bubble' and collapsed, asleep. Witnesses had called an ambulance, tried to get them to wake up. By the time they did wake up – utterly weak, drained, almost lifeless, they'd still found the energy to …. copulate… right there and then in front of the helpless paramedics, before collapsing mid-act and not waking up again.

Minako tapped the window where she'd drawn crude stick figures of all the current victims, with names and ages and occupations written across. Some of them were really quite young… 17, 18, 22, 17 again...

"So," she said way too cheerfully, and Rei raised an eyebrow at the tone. "We have two horny high schoolers, two horny college freshmen, two horny athletes, two horny colleagues, and now a horny professor and her student, all fucking themselves into a coma as if possessed after they touched a wobbly, invisible thing that keeps popping up from time to time and that only they can see that turns them momentarily into sleeping beauties, all at a rift in space and time filled with leftover Black Moon energy."

"Don't forget they keep doing it," Makoto threw in, slurping around her instant ramen, and Minako nodded.

"Right," she said, uncapping her purple marker and drawing a circle around Monday's article.

The first two victims – the high schoolers – had woken up. The boy had ripped his IV out, and in unresponsive tunnel vision had barreled across the hospital hallway and found his partner's hospital room as if by magnetism. The girl had woken up immediately, and they'd romped with her still attached to the machinery, until they passed back out, still buried within each other.

They'd been confined ever since. Separately. That interview, when she'd woken up again had been… interesting to listen to.

Usagi wet her lips and chanced a glance towards Mamoru. He'd crossed his arms, blushing harder than she was.

As if Minako had heard her embarrassed thoughts, she pressed the play button on her laptop, and Usagi felt her cheeks start burning again.

The girl – her voice incredibly pleasant – was moaning, and what sounded like writhing. " _You don't understand! It's under my skin. It's burning. I need him! I need him to fill me up, you don't understand. I'm on_ fire _without him, I—_ " Then she broke off, and hissed, breathing harshly through her nose and squeaking in this almost pained, staccato way as she… came.

" _RIGHT_ ," Rei said, and leaned over to press the stop button over a protesting Minako, claiming that 'we're only now getting to the good bit!', and Makoto mumbling how she really felt weird about having this kinda evidence at hand.

And of course, _of course_ , Usagi just _had_ to glance at Mamoru again. But this time, he glanced right back, cheeks aflame, and they both looked away as if caught. She shifted in her spot, embarrassed.

"So," Rei said loudly, slightly annoyed. "Do we know how to stop them from … you know … fucking each other till they pass out for the _rest of time_?"

"Good question!" Mina said brightly, raising her purple pen high, and waiting that dramatic pause that the girls all hated.

"I've no idea!" she finished, just as brightly.

"Ugh," came the collective chorus.

"Ami has a few ideas, but… just ideas for now. _But_ ," Mina continued, and circled one of Ami's notes, "we _do_ know that once Ami completes her third scan tonight, she can calculate to some matter of high probability when the bubble will pop up again, whether or not we see it!"

Well that, at least, was a start.

* * *

Usagi shivered a little, crossed her arms, and rubbed her gloved hands quickly along her upper arms – the small part of her that her fuku left completely bare, besides her thighs.

Her eyes flicked to the clocktower in the middle of the park. _Their_ clocktower. _Their_ park. Go figure. The park was friggin' huge – could that stupid bubble stuff not have turned up _anywhere_ else?

The two hands aligned with a little click, and it was midnight.

As Ami had predicted, a little ways next to them, one silvery-golden bubble appeared.

Usagi blinked. It looked pretty, even. Strangely, alluringly pretty, in fact, the longer she looked at it. Like a marble, but translucent… just like a soap bubble, yes.

A very beckoning, pretty soap bubble.

Venus hrmphed beside her, Mamoru cocked his head into the direction of the weird sight as well.

"So, you're sure about this plan?" Venus asked.

"It's not a plan yet," Ami said, immediately, visor up.

"But… you're sure it _would_ _work_?"

"I ran the numbers on a 0.01 probability of error. I'm 99% sure, with a remarkably narrow confidence interval, and we're pretty damn significant here," Ami repeated, with a sigh.

"The plan is stupid," Rei cut in, and Ami nodded her head, agreeing.

The (not-)plan was this: Ami was fairly certain the trick lay with the bubble itself, as well as the weird falling-asleep part prior to the sex-forever part.

Since their last meeting, two more victims had woken up (the college freshmen), and both guys, though pretty frenzied just as the high schoolers had been, barely able to form proper sentences around their need, had managed to supply that the sleep-in-the-bubble part had been rather… crucial. A weird dreamscape that had induced the lust, in which they'd already started their… activities. After they'd touched the weird sex bubble and promptly fallen asleep, what had looked to the outside observer to be mere minutes of sleep (3 minutes and 46 seconds for the couple that had been timed from start to finish), to them, in a kind of intense, shared dream, had been hours. And it had drained their energy rather significantly.

Comparing the data of all three previous scans, Ami had been able to conclude that the bubble was expanding. But also, since it seemed to be getting thinner and thinner as it grew, that it had the capacity to… pop, for a lack of a better word. (Ami had used a better one.) But only if the ones touching the bubble and going into sex dream-space had enough energy that it wouldn't be depleted all too soon, or at least, a little longer than 3 minutes and 46 seconds. If it had leached enough energy, so Ami's rather tentative conclusion, it would burst. And with it, the weird sex dream magic, too.

In fact, Ami was fairly certain, given some time, it would pop all on its own. But not before it had rendered tons of other people into catatonic sex loops, by the rate it was going. Unless, of course, it got to leech off someone really powerful to jumpstart the breakage.

So, who better to try this out than a Sailor Senshi? They had the energy of a whole planet inside of them, after all…

So, go in, pop it, no more sex pollen.

Yeah, Usagi really wasn't sure what she thought of this, and glanced back at the marble warily.

"So, who does it?" Venus asked.

Ami looked appalled. "What, you want to try this out, _now_?" she said in her 'Are you daft?' voice.

Minako waved her comment away with a flick of her wrist. "I mean… I could always go in alone, you know?" she said. "I have no problems masturbating this thing into oblivion."

"Minako!" Jupiter yelped, scandalized.

"What?"

Rei rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you said yourself. It only works in twos. _AND_ the bubble picks who goes in."

"So, what, we _need_ a guy?" Mako asked, confused.

Even when Ami shook her head, mumbled a "nah, just _pairs_ ," their eyes turned towards Mamoru. All mask, and top hat, and scowl, and Usagi tensed.

"No way," he said, voice low and menacing, with a slow shake of his head.

Mina rolled her eyes. "As if I would." And then, "so, what if I, say, take a date?"

Ami flinched, started typing. "Only significant on a 10% error probability anymore, but… well, better than nothing? Just…"

"Just?"

"Your date would not have your levels of energy," Ami said, still typing. "Might not… y'know…"

"Hm." Minako frowned.

"But, guys, this is only hypothetical. We shouldn't do this, yet. I haven't—" Ami threw in, again.

But Rei interrupted her. "What if I go in with her?"

Venus smirked, slow and suggestive.

Ami blushed, but nodded. "That should work."

"Right!" Mina extended her hand to Rei. "What do we do, where is this bubble?"

"Not now!" Ami repeated, exasperated, even when she tipped against her visor to flare up her holographic interface. "Um, but, the bubble _would_ be somewhere abouuut…" she said, stretching the words, turning around her own axis in search.

Usagi blinked, felt her stomach plummet, started blubbering. " _Wait_ ," she said, wide-eyed, glancing back at the _clearly visible_ bubble that was _right there_ … "You… You guys _can't_ see it?"

Ami stopped in her tracks, all eyes whipped to her this time.

"What… can _you_?"

Her eyes flew to the bubble… as did Mamoru's, and then their eyes met.

_Oh no._

Ami's eyes widened, looking back and forth between Mamoru and her, and to her hologram, and the spot they'd both been looking.

"Wait!" Rei said, eyes even wider.

Yes. There were two people here who could see this. Mamoru and her.

Mamoru started shaking his head, fast and erratic. "No!" he said. "I'm not doing this!"

Usagi sighed, and she pursed her lips. Her gut clenched painfully. _Right. Because having sex with me in a dream would be the most disgusting thing you could just about imagine._

Her heart fell, and the corner of her lips, too. _Because I would._

"Well," Ami said, her voice significantly drier now, blushing, "technically… I think you _could_ try to just… um, withstand it. You know, not act on the … um, _stimulus_ , while it drains you and grows?..." She trailed off, shook her head a little. "It might work. It should still… pop. But, you know…"

Usagi blinked at her, and Ami blushed harder.

"I mean, if you can't… withstand the… pressure, I mean, you should probably work the, um… _logistics_ out beforehand." Ami's head was beet red by now.

Usagi exhaled a shaky breath. Her hands started to tremble. She cursed herself for the fact that her whole body was prepared to jump right in there right now.

She hadn't even thought about the possibility before… but honestly, this might be her only chance to ever…

She shook her head.

"Because you _do_ have time, you know. We _don't_ need to do this tonight," Ami added, immediately, once more. "In fact, we absolutely _shouldn't._ "

"Ami's right," Makoto said, alarmed, now.

"I won't have sex with her," Mamoru pressed out, and ran his hand into his hair, knocking the top hat right off.

Usagi's insides flared up in anger. He didn't even _look_ at her when he said it. As if she wasn't even _there_.

It was childish. It was petty. "Well, I guess then you got nothing to fear," Usagi bit out, and strode purposefully towards the translucent marble. Wondering briefly, if she went in, would he automatically fall asleep, too, or just her? Did they both have to touch it, or did one of them suffice?

He caught her arm by the elbow. "Wait!" he said, alarmed, eyes wide and fearful, at the same time the girls all exclaimed the same.

The anger drained from her system, and she deflated. The look in his eyes…

She sighed, arm at an awkward angle the way it was firmly gripped by his gloved hand.

_He's freaking out…_

"Really," Ami said, her voice a little frantic now. "We should _not_ do this today. Let me run more data. Please."

She started. If they started with the princess and need for protection shit now, she was gonna yell. But, there was still this look in his eyes.

He absolutely did not want to do this. And she would never force him.

Usagi sighed - ignored the insistent pricking sensations behind her eyes where the tears threatened to form. How many times could one be rejected by the same person over and over again?

Her shoulders fell, and she swallowed around the painful lump in her throat. "Well," she said, finally, "but the bubble _is_ choosing me." She threw it a wary look again. It looked too pretty, too enticing. "What if ... like Mina-P said, what if I take someone else? A ' _date'_?"

" _NO_ ," Mamoru boomed. She frowned at him.

Usagi blinked. "I mean...I'm sure I could just… take all of the hit? I wouldn't let them get harmed…"

She didn't look – well, she didn't want to look, but she did. And she saw both of Mamoru's fists clench.

And then Minako spoke, and Usagi's eyes widened. How _unfair_ to bring up _him_ , Minako _knew_ that Mamoru—

"You know," Minako said too calmly, too calculating. "We could also contact Kinmoku… ask Seiya to join you?"

Usagi gasped, when Mamoru strode straight into the bubble.

She felt her knees buckle, but didn't feel the inevitable hit to the floor, only heard Mamoru crumble to the ground where the bubble was, that little ways away, immediately.

It felt like drowning, this type of falling asleep.

 

 


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado: Have fun with the rest of this (now DEFINITELY M-rated) show ; )

The moment she'd entered, it felt like… like when one steps out from an air-conditioned building, into the most intense, pressing heat one might ever be exposed to, enveloping all her senses, drowning her – just, a very different kind of heat. It crushed into her so hard she immediately fell to her knees, shuddering, shivers rippling along her skin, prickling, stroking.

It was intense, so intense the need she felt. Not from inside, but in herself, and so, so…

This was no outside force, like she'd imagined. This was all her, but as if through a magnifying lens.

Every dream and fantasy and last glimmer of lust she'd ever felt crushed into her all at once, welcoming her like an old friend, pooling in her belly, between her legs, on the end of every fine hair on her skin that stood up as if electrified. Every last ounce of desire she had ever felt in his proximity – every impact with him that had left her breathless, every time he'd accidently touched her hand, or brushed against her leg, swept her away out of danger with his hand pressing warm into her waist, her thighs, her soul. Every late night she'd spent with her hand between her legs and lip between her teeth, imagining him entering through her window and pressing her back into her bed, or dreamt about a situation not dissimilar to this one. Like thick adrenaline it rushed through her system, clouding her every thought and perception, painting it in desire.

There were no words to describe the sensation, only delirium that rushed and pooled within her in an intensity it clouded her brain, her judgement, until she could only pant, clutch at her chest, as she stared at Mamoru's back in front of her. Delicious, irresistible Mamoru.

It was too much. There was too much to draw from.

Every time Tuxedo Mask had whisked her out of harm's way, his hands pressed into her skin, and she'd spent the following nights imagining those hands brushing lower, his lips brushing against her neck as he stroked gloved hands across her bum, lifting the short skirt of her fuku, and the gasps she made when he pushed forcefully into her from behind.

Every time Mamoru had spent training with them in the heat of summer in the isolated corners of Hikawa Shrine, and the sweat had glistened on his lean, but rippling muscles, when his shirt was gone and his sweatpants rode _so low_ , and she'd overpowered him with heaving breaths and stolen touches and so utterly turned on, and she'd spent the nights tormented in the soothing blow of the too loud fans, when she imagined herself straddling him and licking every last drop of salty sweat off of him from the fine, chiseled lines across his stomach and abdomen, and riding him until she cried from exhaustion.

All those endless times she'd caught him looking at her, absentmindedly – whenever his eyes found her so unerringly in any crowd, or the sideways glances at senshi meetings, and they all always lingered a second too long, and her mind stopped working and instead she imagined holding his gaze until he walked to her through parting crowds, seized her lips in a searing kiss, promised her it was all a lie, crushed her into the nearest wall and made her come in apology, again and again.

Every last, embarrassing moment of fantasy came back to her, crushing her, big and small.

She had to scrunch her eyes shut, had to dig her fingers _so_ hard into her own skin, heard him whimper when she moaned so pitifully and pressed her knees together. This was too much. _Too much_.

Every dream of shuddering moans in her ear, of her body moving across his futon as he pushed so hard, or whispered, mindless, desperate declarations as he came undone and into her mouth with roars that shuddered through him.

Her fingers twitched, clenched, curled. So did her toes, and she couldn't keep still as she writhed and bit her lip so harshly…

It was so hard, _so_ _hard_ not to reach out and… and…

Her eyes flew back open when he whirled around.

His hair was disheveled from where he'd kneaded his hands into it, pulling. His mask had long been flung away, his eyes were wide, almost only pupil, and he was breathing hard.

He gulped, when she licked her lips, breathing even harder. She couldn't control her face as good as he could. She knew it was all there to see, and he scrunched his eyes shut, bent over and whimpered.

His hands were twitching, too.

She could see the bulge pressing against the front of his tuxedo pants. The way his pupils had dilated. He covered his ears with trembling hands and yelled, grunting in frustration.

"NO!" he screamed, to no one in particular, but perhaps, she felt, to himself. "I can't! You don't understand! I can't!"

A wave hit her – a pulse of … even _more_ lust, and she fell forward, shuddering, catching herself by falling on her palms and curving her back. She bit her lip until it hurt, squeezing her eyes shut as her vision turned white and she lost control of her voice, and her insides spasmed and the need grew so bad she felt she might _die_ if he didn't—

All she could do to keep from attacking him, from diving straight into him and his mouth, was to angle her body away, turn her back to him.

It affected Mamoru, too. She felt it rather than heard or saw it, as if every movement of his was echoed on her very skin.

Heard him mewl in utter torture as he fell to his knees – so close, so close to her.

Right behind her.

She shuddered violently, and it was too hard, she couldn't _not_ …

She bucked back into him, rubbed herself against him with a guttural groan, and he cried out.

With a powerful push, he was on top of her. Tackled her to the ground, his front to her back, his harsh breathing in her neck, his hands aligning with hers, curling with hers, glove against glove, squeezing tight, his cape enveloping them both.

She shuddered, pressed into the ground, her cheek pressing against the weirdly soft, cool floor, mewled and trembled as she pushed her ass back up into his heavy weight on top of her, felt him press back, his erection pressing into the cheeks of her bum and she started crying from the sheer _need_.

His hands squeezed hers tighter, and she felt his voice vibrate right through her core when he spoke harshly, lips against her jugular, brushing her skin with every word.

"We can do this," he hissed through his teeth. "We _can_ withstand this, I _know_ —"

He broke off, groaning, when Usagi once again bucked her hips upwards, felt the slip of his silky, smooth black trousers against the back of her naked thighs where her fuku exposed her skin, and with it, the shift of his cock against her ass.

She cried out, voice muffled by the floor, felt his harsh, low groan against her neck, and he withdrew slightly and pushed against her again, bucking into her more powerfully than she had done before him, and she whimpered, fingers twitching in his strong grip.

He did it again, and this time she cried out even louder, burying her teeth into the soft ground as she spasmed from the intensity, felt the metal of her tiara press into her forehead as she pushed her head closer to the ground in order to press back against him harder, and she heard his roar ring in her ear and felt his fingers turn stiff before squeezing her even tighter. She pushed her bum back into him, and his forehead fell into the crook of her neck, the soft, inky black strands that usually fell into his eyes tickled her neck and she shuddered, twitched, her eyes rolling back into her head.

The sounds she made must have been absolutely animalistic. She had no room in her brain to even hear them herself, when he pushed himself up against her hands, only slightly, and pushed his erection against her at a new angle, lower. She felt the way her skirt had hiked up, the way the sides of her barely exposed butt cheeks slipped against the soft fabric of his tuxedo trousers, and it made her skin boil and her core clench, and he pushed again with such force, pushing her whole body forward, and then he did it again, and _again_ , only faster, and faster, and her throat began to hurt from the way she shouted and cried and grunted it all out.

She arched her back as much as she possibly could, curving, bending, pressing her belly and breasts and thighs into the ground almost painfully, in order to curl her bum upwards as much as possible so he'd hit _that_ spot, and she cried out in a strangled moan when, with a loud, tortured groan he let go of one of her hands and his hand flew to her hip. It clawed into and underneath the fabric covering her butt, lifting her up even higher so he hit it even harder, even more directly, and her side lifted from the ground causing her thigh to tremble and shake with the pressure and her toes to flex. It vibrated through her body as she let all her weight fall into his hand, and his direction to press deeper, harder, into where she needed it most.

His hand slipped deeper into the white fabric of her fuku, it moved under his touch and she let out a stuttered moan as she felt more of it all, and the way the fabric of his pants now felt rougher, slightly damp from where it kept rubbing, hitting against her, and he howled and curled the hand that still held hers so tight her fingers felt numb.

He pushed again, harder, deeper, rocking her against the soft ground. It was only when she spasmed so violently, the sensation pulsing from her core to the tips of her toes and fingers in rhythmic waves that left her blind and without control of even her tongue, that she cried out, high-pitched and frantic, when suddenly he launched himself off and away from her.

It was hard to even open her eyes, much less move, under the constant pressure and throbbing of this pure and pressing _lust,_ bubbling, sizzling in her blood, but it physically _hurt_ when he was gone, and so she rolled to her side, curled her knees up and underneath her as she crawled towards him, awkwardly, panting harshly.

The sight in front of her was a familiar one. Mamoru, on his knees, head hanging low, his hair falling forward so she couldn't see his face, hands pulling hard on his hair.

What was new were the two, lone, thick frustrated tears that hit the ground beneath his spread knees.

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm so sorry."

Her voice was dry, her eyes wide. For a second, just a second, she was able to swallow the waves, ignore them. "What for?" she whispered.

"I'm not –" he choked, "strong enough," he cried. "I can't – This _need_ , I can't control—"

The wave buried her under again, and him, too, it seemed. He shuddered, turned his face skyward, blinking, biting his lower lip and breathing hard through his nose.

"Then don't be strong," she cried, her voice a beg. "I don't want you to. I need you, t—"

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!" he shouted, launched himself farther away, but she crawled towards him, slowly, on her hands and knees.

Her voice was too calm. Betraying the storm in her blood.

"What don't I understand?"

He faltered, breathed hard, and for a second his eyes seemed clear as he looked her in the eyes.

"I'm your doom," he whispered.

She shrugged. _That_ was honestly not news.

"I don't care," she whispered, voice hitching in a moan.

He shook his head, ready to argue.

But she bit her lip, moaned out a wave, and she felt him waver, his eyes burning into the soft hairs of her skin, when she was able to open them back up, slowly, so slowly.

He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up once, slowly, then down.

They both groaned out, when another wave hit. Stronger, so much stronger than the one before, and Usagi pressed her eyes shut and struggled for breath against this blistering, exquisite, unbearable torture that tore her out from the inside, because she _wasn't allowed to touch_ —

She couldn't. She couldn't stand this. She wouldn't survive this without—with a gasp, she clawed her gloved hand into her crotch, bit her lip, pressed her knees together as hard as she could, and rode out the wave.

When she opened her eyes again, her breath caught once more.

Mamoru had moved closer. Knelt so close, so, so close, eyes wide and glassy and focused on her hand, lips trembling.

If she would straighten up her back, angle up her head…

He licked his lips, eyes wide, and his eyes landed on her mouth as he did so, and she had to cry out, raw and sharp, from the throb the simple action caused within her, the way it traveled along every nerve ending.

With a shiver that ran down her spine, his eyes – intense and dark – met hers, and she straightened up her back, moved up onto her knees, and with that, the bow that held her brooch brushed against the crisp white of his vest, and her breath stirred the color of his thin, soft evening shirt.

Holding his gaze, she brought one of her gloved hands up to her lips, bit into the fabric, and pulled it off with her teeth.

His breathing turned erratic, she could feel the muscles in his stomach curl as he watched her remove the second glove as well. Sliding her freed hand into the fabric and peeling it down without moving her eyes away from his.

This was a dream, right? In reality, they both lay in that park, surrounded by her senshi. She had nothing to lose, really. She just needed to keep telling herself that.

She could feel him tremble, close as she was. All her senses honed in on him, and the sizzle in her veins.

He didn't move away.

With shaking hands and the delirium that roared in her ears, she lifted up her hands, and peeled his vest away from the few, white buttons, one by one.

She didn't even touch skin. Revealed nothing but more crisp white, but the charge between them was so taut, so intense, she might as well have run her tongue across his…

She swallowed, throbbing, aching, and pushed her fingers inside the vest. She felt the tremor in him, the warmth, as her hands slid across the soft fabric.

She slid her hand up higher, held her breath when she settled her palm above his chest, and she could feel the _thump-thump, thump-thump_ of his wildly beating heart… even faster than hers, and she exhaled audibly, shakily.

Mamoru whimpered.

And then, _oh thank god_ , his hands that wound into her hair, hands that pulled and crushed her against him, and for the first time in 9 years, she felt her lips were where they belonged.

She cried into his mouth, shook so hard the kiss was sloppy, wild, and his hands roamed across her back, slid over the fabric of her skirt across her bum and pressed her to him.

She pushed her tongue into his mouth just as he pushed his erection back against her, and cried out again with her lower lip between his teeth.

Not enough. _God_ , not enough. She needed more.

She wound her arms around his shoulders, needing more leverage, needing to be closer. Attacked his mouth as if she wanted to crawl into him, and he kissed her back as frantically as the feeling that burned unyielding in her chest.

This _hunger_. This _insatiable_ hunger.

There was nothing but his hands, and his mouth, and his cock against her abdomen, and the pressing, roaring lust in everything she was, and she needed him with a force she knew she would never need anything again ever in her life.

Just that, with an audible pop of their lips and a shove of his hands against her shoulders, he wrenched himself free with a tortured groan, and turned, jumped, _flew_ away from her.

Her cry was so agonized, his hands flew to his head as if to to cover his ears, but hovered in the air instead, as he closed his eyes and grunted harshly, as if in physical pain.

" _Please_ ," Usagi cried, her very skin crying out along.

His answering groan was more tortured than hers, and he crushed his hands into his temples.

She lowered herself down to her thighs, knees apart, chest heaving, and looked up at him.

"Please," she repeated. Much quieter, more desperate.

She swallowed, tried to focus, tried to get her head out of this burning fog that was her mind, tried to reason.

"I…" she started, broke off. Her voice was so small, so sad, so frantic. "You… don't even…" she swallowed. "You could… close your eyes, if that's it. I don't mind. You can pretend I'm someone else."

He froze. Lowered his arms. And once again, this time, his eyes looked clear as he looked at her so… appalled.

She heard her heart beat so loud in the silence, she was sure he could hear it, too.

He moved so quickly it startled her, and she jumped a little when he skidded back to his knees, back to her so fast in one movement that his knees bumped against hers when his hands cradled her cheeks and she forgot how to breathe but not how to thirst.

His face was so close that his eyes had to jump between hers to really look her in the eyes, but he did, as if reading them, as if searching them, and she wasn't sure what he saw.

And slowly, so slowly, to the soundtrack of her hitching breath, he lowered his face to hers, but did not close his eyes.

He kissed her nose first, soft lips connecting to her skin and it felt like fire. Her left cheek came second, lips lingering against her skin, and his eyes were so wide, so piercing, and she had no control of her own look, didn't know if she looked as if she was about to burst into tears or absolutely disbelieving, or if she would melt at his touch, because she felt all those things and more.

His eyes. Open and wide, boring into her, and she still felt them when she, at last, closed hers, and he kissed her eyelids, so softly, one by one, her forehead, her jawline, the corners of her lips. She whimpered, softly. The rush still boiled in her, wanted him to kiss her differently, in different places, and she could feel his fingers – his gloves gone, too, finally, having been ripped off by him - claw into her hair in a way that she knew he must still feel the same, and yet…

Yet, he kept kissing her face, stroking across her cheeks, but never closing his eyes.

She struggled to keep her mind silent. Interpret. She knew he was seeing her, was trying to tell her something her heart needed to ignore, or else it would shatter when this dream was over.

His restraint, his struggle, or so it seemed, was over. He was here, and open. And he wasn't closing his eyes. Not at all. Not for a second. Not for a single kiss. He was looking at _her_.

And it broke all of her control, all of her restraint.

With a shudder, she moved, and he didn't hold her back.

She clawed her hands into his shirt, and her tongue found his in a kiss so deep, so desperate, so fast, it made her insides throb and her fingers shake.

She ripped open his shirt, felt the fabric tear, and she curled it off around his open vest and tuxedo jacket and across the big, golden shank buttons that fastened his cape to his form. It took her a while until she got it all off, connected to his mouth so frantically, and he bent and flexed his body to help her get rid of it all, shaking his arms impatiently, stuck in jumbled, twisted layers of thick fabric, but finally it was gone, and she gasped when his arms wound around her and he lifted her up by the hips and into his lap. She curled her legs around him on instinct, locking long legs around him, and they both cried out when they connected so intimately, once again separated by layers of fabric. He moved his lips away from hers to a loud, embarrassing, needy whimper from her, only to kiss along her neck, back up her chin, her jawline, and back to her mouth, twisting and kneading the skin of her back so deliciously it rippled through her.

He was sexy, just in his tuxedo pants, and looking at her in them like so, but they needed to go. And so, she ripped at the archaic, infuriating buttons that laced him up, ripped them out – at least some of them, by accident – and curled her hand inside and he howled into her mouth.

She could touch him now, even if there was no way she was getting these pants off his hips or past his shoes this way, and it had to suffice for now.

But he had different plans, and she protested with loud moans when her hand was ripped from his cock when she'd barely started, and with a touch that felt almost too gentle for her frantic need, he leaned forward with her still in his lap, supporting her back with one arm, the other clutching her thigh, as he lowered her to the ground.

She exhaled, shuddering, when her thighs unlocked from around him and he traced them, outside to deliciously tingling inside, with a strong grip as he withdrew.

He sat on his knees between her legs, pants open, exposing him, and his chest lowered and lifted as he tried to catch his breath, but the look in his eyes was so intense and she couldn't tear her gaze away from it, not even with the sight of his open pants tempting her, when he leaned back in.

Without looking for it, really, her found her newest scar. Exposing her shoulder with one single, precise and impatient tug at her fuku, he pulled the fabric aside, and ran his lips along the puckered, paling edges, never closing his eyes.

She shuddered, and he touched the very tip of his tongue to it, incredibly lightly, and traced the line, slowly, so slowly, before he pressed a soft, _so soft_ kiss to it. Usagi's heart jumped, when, ever so lightly, she felt him press his lips to it, and felt, much rather than heard, the almost imperceptibly soft, "I'm sorry," that he mumbled into her skin, _to_ her skin, almost.

And as if possessed, his eyes went wild. As if he only now remembered there were more. With that, he pressed his hand deep, deep into her brooch, pressing it into her chest.

It listened to him like it would to her, exploded into ribbons that surrounded her loosely, exploding out from her in wide angles, leaving her bare in a puddle of pink.

He didn't have to look for the other scars. He knew them. He'd been there for almost all of them, had treated most of them. It didn't feel new, his touch. It felt familiar. So, so familiar.

No, he didn't have to look for her scars, found them as if he had memorized their each and every location on her body like a map, kissing and stroking and lapping at them, mumbling hushed, "I'm sorry's," barely audible, to each and every one, harried, frantic, like a madman starving.

He found the small, now almost faded scratches left of the claws of one of Palla-Palla's Remless that had gotten way too close to killing her, as well as the deep, ugly, zigzagging scars across her belly made by Nehelenia's mirrors of when she'd kidnapped Usagi and tortured her. He found the round, punctured indenting scar in her hip bone, where Senishenta had impaled her on her 15th birthday, and the tiny, pretty much invisible shadows of faded scratches where that catwoman daimon had cut her to shreds like that puzzle that she herself was, when she couldn't transform, but wouldn't leave Tuxedo Mask behind nevertheless, however much he'd screamed and yelled and tried to order her to go, and he'd carried her out of there unconscious in the end.

He found them all, whispered to them, brushed his lips and cheeks and tongue against them, as if he were trying to kiss them all away.

She felt his twitching, weeping cock against her thigh, where it peeked from the destroyed mess she'd made of the front of his pants. She felt the tremor in his fingertips and skin and muscle, felt the need that vibrated through him like it did through her... and yet, he didn't stop this penance he paid to her skin, as if she were holy, as if he weren't worthy, no matter how deafening the need.

It caused the tears to pool in her eyes, this sudden surge of feeling protected, and, so new, of feeling almost… worshipped. With it, she lifted herself up, abruptly, the muscles in her belly flexing with the movement, and even when she couldn't recognize each of the blemishes on his skin like he could with her, she knew where the one would be that was no longer there.

The one he'd died for when she was only Usagi, when he'd had no memory of Serenity as he jumped in front of Zoisite's crystal, after she'd transformed in front of him and he in front of her.

It was no scar, it had been erased from time, and by dark magic even before that, but she traced invisible lines across his shaking chest, and ran her fingers to his back to find the rest of it that did not exist.

On the way, her fingers traced countless other scars. Most of them much more faded than hers, barely scratches, yet they were countless. And her throat throbbed in pain that she did not know what each of them were, even when she knew she'd been there when they'd been inflicted. Had been the cause, for most of them. Every time he'd jumped into the line of fire to get her out of it.

She leaned forward, and her lips connected with a tiny, thin line across his collarbone, and she could feel him moving as he swallowed thickly, felt his skin shake in tense tremors when her lips traced the faded scar she had no recollection of.

"I'm sorry, too," she whispered against him.

He shook his head, only once, abruptly, and jerked alive. And in a flurry of satiny pink ribbons that fluttered around them and slipped softly against her skin, she was on her back once more, and his mouth moved over hers in that needy way she'd always dreamt of, as if he wanted to crawl into her, too, frantic and deep, in a way that almost made her believe he'd been yearning for her like she'd been yearning for him all these years.

He cried into her mouth, when she grabbed onto his cock, and shoved at his pants that seemed as if they were molded onto his form and lifted her legs to hook her toes into the waistband to shove even harder.

They came barely down his hips, exposing his butt only partly, and she gave up the fight except that she dug her fingers into the soft, tight, flesh of his ass and pushed him against her.

The shudder that vibrated through her when his cock finally connected to her wet, slick, naked flesh was blinding, a wave of pleasure so deep she forgot to breathe as she arched her back and his lips slipped from her mouth against her jaw as he howled out and shuddered, too.

It throbbed against her, thick and hard and delicious, and her eyes rolled back into her head, she couldn't help it, as she lifted her hips only barely, rubbing against him, coating him in slick moisture, biting her lip as he slipped back and forth and back and forth across her and it was the sweetest torture she had ever known. His breathing was irregular, harsh and almost pained, before she positioned him where she needed him, and she felt his trembling fingers clench in her hair and his teeth against her shoulder.

And with her fingers flexing on the smooth skin of his butt, she brought her second hand around him, and pressed him towards her again.

The feeling that exploded within her when he slipped inside, thick and stretching and slick and noisy, was a wave of pleasure she knew was amplified by the magic around them, a wave too thick, too long, too lasting as it rolled across her blood again and again, and his cheeks were wet when they slipped against her face as he withdrew and thrusted back inside, again and again, to a litany of her name on his lips.

Except it wasn't her name. It was better.

" _Usako, Usako, Usako_ —"

She howled, deep and guttural, when he drove into her again and again, felt the muscle of his butt tense under her fingertips so deliciously, rode out this wave of blinding ecstasy that just wouldn't _stop_ , as she cried for him to go deeper, to go harder, to shove himself back into her and never stop, and fuck her until she could no longer see or press out garbled words, because it wasn't enough, it would never be enough.

But thankfully, they had more than enough time, and one never grew tired in dreams.

* * *

Makoto stroked gloved hands across Usagi's hair. Her form was completely still, except sometimes, her fingers would curl almost imperceptibly, or she would stretch her spine just that miniscule amount. Her breathing was deep and even, but her heartbeat thumped alarmingly hard.

They were still pretty sure it was working, though. Mamoru's form was evidence enough, even when he, too, lay completely still.

Makoto's face burned, she couldn't look where Minako had pooled his cape to conceal his very evident…

"Oi!" Rei called up from her perch against the wall of the fountain, slapped Minako across the legs. "Quit staring at his boner!"

"How else are we supposed to know if this is working?!" Minako said, not in the least blushing whatsoever, though not very slightly amused and hyper.

Rei rolled her eyes, cheeks a rosy hue, and Makoto went back to curling her gloved fingers into Usagi's hair.

She really hoped Usagi's heart would survive this…

She sighed. "Shouldn't they…" Makoto started, glanced up at the little clock tower above them. It's been too long. She was growing concerned. And from the look of it, so was everyone except maybe Minako.

It had almost been half an hour. Way more than 3 minutes and 46 seconds, and also exceedingly longer than Ami's calculations had predicted were needed in order to pop this thing.

"What is that in dreamscape?" Minako asked, now growing thoughtful "Like, a day?"

Ami inclined her head, shook it softly. "About 11 hours, if the curve of the rift can be trusted," she said, voice quiet. "Still…"

Minako whistled, eyes going back where they weren't supposed to be, and Makoto's eyes drifted towards the space Mamoru had strode towards. No bubble in sight, of any size. She couldn't see it, even when Ami kept close to it, worried, scanning, updating them with data and numbers she couldn't really grasp except that obviously that thing she couldn't see had tripled in size by now.

" _THERE_!" Ami called out, piercing, startling them.

Makoto's eyes flew back to the spot – still nothing there – but Ami's hologram flared, running numbers in rapid speed, and Rei jumped to her feet, alarmed.

And with a loud groan, Usagi stirred awake in Makoto's lap, and Mamoru lifted trembling arms to his face.

It felt as if to them, they weren't even there. Instead, they found each other's eyes. Usagi got up – slowly, awkwardly, as if it took all her strength, and her arm twitched, as if she wanted to reach out.

They looked so frightened, so panicked, the way they looked at each other.

And then, just as suddenly, Usagi collapsed back against Makoto, and she could barely catch her, and Rei moved to keep Mamoru's head from hitting the ground.

Ami came fluttering.

"Sleep," Ami said, relieved. "Just normal exhaustion, now."

* * *

She woke up with a moan, lost in the remnants of a dream that... well. It turned into a startled groan instead, when Minako's face hovered way to close to hers when she opened her eyes.

"So?" she asked. "How do you feel? Like you wanna run across town and fuck Mamoru's lights out, or are you good?"

Usagi blushed bright red, the memory slowly coming back to her. And she blushed some more.

She was in her bed, in the top she'd worn last night and her favorite PJ bottoms – the girls must have brought her home and put her to bed.

She blinked, found her alarm clock, then frowned at the sky outside her window that was definitely not a morning sky, and, maybe not quite irrationally, wondered if she'd been out for more than a day.

"We called in sick for you," came Ami's voice from the doorframe, and Usagi started, still disoriented. She hadn't noticed Ami there.

"Well," Minako started again, head cocked to the side, as Usagi swung her legs around and touched the mess that was her hair. "How do you feel?" she asked.

Usagi frowned.

"Horny?"

And then blushed.

It all came flooding back to her and she nearly jumped from her bed, embarrassed, and suddenly not only slightly aroused from the memories, and she blushed harder, started pacing, walking out into the small living area.

"How— Did I—" she croaked, bright red.

Ami was quick to follow. "You slept peacefully. We have no idea what happened, and you didn't… y'know," she trailed off, and Usagi nodded, relieved.

"And we also don't need to know. At all," Ami said. "You don't have to tell us anything."

Usagi exhaled a shaky, relieved breath, even when Minako looked at Ami appalled, in that 'Speak for yourself!' way.

"Did it…work?" Usagi asked.

Ami shrugged apologetically. "I _think_ it popped – the energy signature vanished the moment you woke up."

For the first time, Usagi noticed the array of her favorite, fatty foods on the coffee table. Lukewarm, and yet they looked more delicious than anything she'd ever seen.

Her stomach roared as if on cue. She thought she might have never been so hungry in her life. Or so tired.

Without thinking, she fell to her knees in her usual spot, and bit into a cold nikuman that made her moan so hard she had to blush again for the memory it evoked.

Minako chuckled. "Well, she seems fine," she said to Ami over her head.

She paid them no mind, completely ignored them as they made a phone call – to Mako-chan, it seemed. Instead, Usagi ate, and ate and ate. And by the time she came up for breath, she still felt hungry, but not like she was starving anymore, and Ami and Minako were watching her.

And when she was entirely honest, there was still a different kind of hunger mixed in there.

"How's…" she frowned. "How's Mamoru," she finally managed to ask.

Ami looked at her sympathetically. "He's ok. Just exhausted as you are. Mako-chan and Rei got him home. He passed out just like you did, and they stuck around like we did. He woke up a few hours before you and felt alright. The girls left, now."

She nodded, felt awkward for the thought that the girls had been on crazy-sex-urges-watch over them to see if they'd…

"But…" Usagi exhaled forcibly, asked something else instead. "What happened to the others? Have they stopped?"

…Because really, she still felt some of that need. It was piercing, every time she remembered their – she swallowed – dream.

Minako shrugged. "You find out," she said.

Wordlessly, Minako handed her the phone. Usagi sighed defeatedly when she dialed her father's number and rolled her eyes when Minako pressed the loudspeaker button, but Usagi didn't change it back.

It rang a few times, until it connected, and her father's cheerful voice greeted her in that affectionate way he always did when he knew it was her.

She cleared her throat, asked him about his day, got a "fine, fine", until she felt brave enough to casually ask.

"Um, Papa," she started, struggling. "How are the victims doing… you know, of the… y'know…"

She rolled her eyes at herself, frustrated that she couldn't even say it without blushing so hard when she had _lived_ the experience now.

"What do you mean, honey?" her father asked, sounding confused.

Usagi blinked, met Minako's and Ami's startled looks.

"Um, y'know, your case? The one you've been working on for weeks? The… couples?" Usagi asked, voice clearer, more careful now.

"What are you talking about, honey? It's been such a quiet month…"

Ami rose, alarmed, even when all eyes flew back to the window. There they all were, the interview transcripts, the police press reports, the articles under her father's name, the photos, Ami's scans, taped to their window.

"Are you alright, honey?" she heard her father through the tinny, now distant sounding loudspeaker.

She barely remembered to brush him off semi-normally, apologize for the mix-up, wish him a hurried, half-hearted quiet afternoon before she hung up, and Minako started pacing.

Ami went to work immediately, called the hospitals, pretended to be relatives of the victims, asked of their status.

There was no one admitted under these names.

It all gave her a giant headache, and she was just still so tired, and both Ami's and Minako's excited discussions went over her head, but a couple phone calls later, and more colorful writing and crossings on the papers of the windows scratched noisily from bright green and purple pens, they'd come up with some theories. None of it made sense.

Except there was a pattern.

* * *

Usagi's feet pounded across the red cobblestones. She hadn't changed, she hadn't showered, just threw on different clothes that she had randomly grabbed from Minako's wardrobe under loud protests and ran across Juuban.

Her throat burned, there was a stitch in her side, but she didn't slow down, even when she barely dodged the people in the streets coming home from work, going for drinks.

Her mind was screaming, whirling, repeating their conversation over and over as she ran like a madwoman.

_"_ _It doesn't choose just anyone," Minako had said. "I thought it was couples at first, but they weren't! And mostly very young, but not always."_

The first ones had been high schoolers – both 17, and he was her best friend's boyfriend. Two in-the-closet gay college freshmen. The third ones were two athletes, going through life side by side. Then the two colleagues, fresh from university. The fifth was the young, female professor and her student. And then them.

Minako had worked it out, even when Usagi hadn't wanted to believe at first. A combination of two factors.

_"_ _No, no! Usagi!" Ami had said. "She's right! That's what it chose – it all adds up!"_

_Usagi's eyes were wide, she shook her head. "But…Mamoru, he's... And he has all these dates, all these girlfriends!"_

_"_ _Well, you're 23 and you hadn't, either," Minako said._

_"_ _But that's different!" Usagi said. Her brain felt like it might explode. "I didn't because it didn't feel right if it wasn't Mamoru – not because I didn't have the opportunity, and he had so much opportunity, believe me, I saw—"_

_"_ _Well maybe it's the same for him!" Minako said quite vehemently, pounding her fist on the coffee table._

_Usagi snorted. "Yeah right. He broke up with me, remember? He didn't do that and then secretly pine for me so much he can't have sex with anyone else."_

_"_ _There's the other part," Ami repeated, calmly._

Usagi ran right across Azabu Juuban's little square, lit up with fairy lights against the dark evening sky. She jumped the steps up two at a time, basically leapfrogged over Kimi-chan's statue and ran down a businessman or two who cursed after her. Usagi didn't hear him. She ran – furious, heart-pounding, _angry_.

_"_ _Well it's…" Ami had started. "Let me rephrase."_

_"_ _First, those that could see the bubble, but nothing happened," Minako cut in, tapping her finger against the notes in the first column on their window._

There'd been the hordes of young middle and high schoolers, sweet and innocent as can be, in heartbreakingly intense unrequited loves, or so Minako claimed to have found out. And when they walked by the bubble with their oblivious, uninterested crushes, they could see it, but their crush could not. Or the lonely, pining salaryman who'd never been in a relationship and who was in love with his team leader who had absolutely no eyes for him – and when they walked by, he could see it, and yet she could not. Nothing happened to these people when they touched the bubble.

 _"_ _Now," Ami had said. "Compare them to the pairs where something_ did _happen."_

_"_ _The high schoolers?" Minako said. "They were deeply, deeply in love, but denied it. He was her best friend's boyfriend. They only met through her, and they didn't want to hurt her. They pretended for months they had no feelings for each other, but he had all these walls of hand drawn sketches in his art folders, and she cried herself to sleep over him."_

_She'd waved her hand, tapped her fingers erratically, almost excited, against the photos taped to their window._

_"_ _The college freshmen were closeted and 'best friends' for years," Minako continued. "Their friends saying the sexual tension between them had been so palpable they'd had bets when they'd just… you know," Minako trailed off, wiggled her eyebrows suggestively with a smirk, and Usagi had waved her hand, urged her to continue._

The colleagues had met their first day at work and fell in love so hard it hurt, for the first time in their lives, but the company had a non-fraternization policy, and so they chose to ignore their feelings. The athletes fell in love without telling the other, when they were both still in middle school and he her sempai that trained her after school, and they kept it secret because they felt it was unprofessional, and yet they spent years pining for each other, never pursuing other people, so much their friends grew worried. Same for the young professor and her student, both of them in love, but keeping it a secret…

_"_ _Do you... do you get the pattern?" Ami had asked, ever so careful, while Minako was practically jumping, hopping, hands almost flailing while Ami talked._

_Usagi frowned. "I mean... of course I pine. You_ know _I love him. You know I've been wanting him. It's…"_

_"_ _No, you don't understand!" Minako cried, frustrated. She looked as if she wanted to shake her._

Both. It only worked when both… it was…

_"_ _Consensual?" Usagi asked, with a frown. Not daring to believe what they were insinuating._

_"_ _MORE! Usagi, open your eyes. What did they do that the others did not?"_

Both… it needed to be both of them. So deeply it hurt them, kept them lonely, and yet they kept it hidden.

Usagi's heart pounded. Hard, frightened, angry, when she pushed into Mamoru's apartment building right when someone exited it.

She had no patience for the elevator, took the stairs instead.

She banged on his door so hard her fist hurt, and then she banged even harder.

Her chest lifted harshly – up and down, up and down – with her hard breathing, when he finally answered.

His hair was tousled, he was only in black, tight, boxer briefs and he smelled like sleep and like man and like Mamoru.

His look was irritated, when he creaked the door open, but it was wide and terrified once the door was open all the way.

She pressed her lips together. Glared at him.

"You jerk!" she cried. "You absolute _bastard_! You—"

She lifted her fists, banged them against his smooth, naked chest - they didn't even hit, they just settled on his warm skin, and he wrapped his gentle, warm hands around her wrists. Immediately, his eyes filled up and he had trouble swallowing.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I—" Her fists moved halfheartedly as she dissolved into sobs, and his hands slipped from her wrists and into her hair, when he crushed her lips to his, then slipped his hands down beneath her bum to lift her up.

She wrapped her legs around him instinctively, clung to him for dear life as he carried her in.

She didn't hear the click of his door, as he checked it shut with his hip, didn't notice the slight stumble when his foot caught on the step of the genkan.

She only heard his soft words against her lips that he uttered next. Almost broken, almost pained, so very desperate – as if he'd lost a fight he'd led for god knows how long just by uttering them…

His soft, barely audible, "I love you," whispered into her mouth, and she melted against his lips as he kicked in the door to his bedroom, sheets still warm from his sleep.

... They could talk this out later, she supposed.

* * *

Ami, sighed, leafing back through Minako's collected files one last time, before filing it away in her metal cabinet, and locking it.

It had been such a weird case. And it didn't add up. At all.

She picked up her coffee mug, sighed into it as she stood by her window, and watched the sunset.

Ami decided not to tell them, but in the end, she guessed it didn't matter. It was over either way, strange as it was. They'd assumed it was residual Black Moon energy that had caused the rift.… She hadn't questioned it at first, just assumed, but now, with this weird outcome… once she had looked closer, there had been no dark energy surrounding it at all.

It had been a rift in space and time alright. Filled to the brim with all-consuming _lust_. But it hadn't been dark energy. And it stopped, after Mamoru and Usagi went in, never turned up again, never caused harm again.… And everyone civilian involved had forgotten about it, except them, and every trace of it had disappeared, from every record, every outlet, except those that they had collected. As if the whole incident had been erased from time.

As if it had been placed there just for the two of them, waiting.

She shook her head at the silly thought. She must have overlooked something.

Who in all the world would mess with space time just to get these two idiots finally back together?

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo… you knoooow… remember how I posted this long tumblr post on how I'm totally adamant of showing realistic sex? Well, this is magic dream sex. No rules apply here, lol. It's your dream, go dream of all the crazy sex you want in those xD (Also, people don't get pregnant in dreams, soo… y'know, chose against the condoms I'm also usually a hardliner about lol)
> 
> Aaaalso, new, alternative headcanon on the origin of those dreams that caused the whole break up arc: What if, one day during this war with Nemesis and his wife unresponsive and locked in a Crystal, and overall living this aristocratic royal life that could never have been Usagi's dream, who'd dreamed of being a housewife and of white picket fences… what if King Endymion had that moment of… what if she'd never been with me? What if this life had been spared her? Would she be happy today? Would she be awake today? …And him being magic, this short moment of insecurity turned into a recurring nightmare in his past that turned that shit into reality, and King Endymion's reality to disappear from one moment to the next, when Mamoru started believing in these dreams.
> 
> As for the title, here's an explanation: La douleur exquise (French) is an expression meaning, literally, "the exquisite pain". It originates from a medical term which defines a pain which morphine cannot dull. It describes a state with drug like effects, and over time its meaning has evolved to also describe that deep pain of being hurt by the one you love, and the 'exquisite' pain of wanting someone that you know you can never have, but knowing you'll forever try to be with them. I thought it fit rather well ;)
> 
> Anyway, a last comment about consent: In my eyes, the crux about this trope is and will always be the consent. And it's a fine line – always! Here, too! In fact, in a way, this is still coerced consent here – you know, the thing when you try and try and try until the person gives in, or until the person sees no other alternative to give in, which is NOT consent but the person "giving up"? Mamoru, strictly speaking, didn't want to do this bubble business. He went in because the alternatives felt worse to him (and also because he was tempted by this SO SO HARD lol, but yeah). Just that in this case, it wasn't actually the sex he didn't want – he very, very much wanted that oh so much – but because he was convinced by his old nightmares that he would be her downfall, and that's why he didn't want it. So, my fine line about this trope that is supposed to sex up people who otherwise wouldn't under normal circumstances, was to make him want the sex (and, really, Usagi, not just the sex with Usagi) but forbid himself, and what is broken was his will to restrain himself and these wants, instead of, y'know, not wanting the sex. So, that was how I dealt with this trope. Plus, you know, the thing where I built this whole narrative around it how only sexually frustrated people with years of pent up sexual fantasies and want for each other and ONLY each other – very mutually – would be subject to this treatment, lol. But it's still a fine, fine line, that I tried to skim and explore very deliberately.
> 
> So yeah, I did my best. And it was a wonderful challenge to write, and I'm glad I got to tell it!
> 
> Anyway, here you go guys. This was my entry for the 4 Authors 1 Trope Sex Pollen Challenge. Antigone2's fic is already up (Love Potion No 9 in her Moonbeams and Lemon Dreams Series), Irritablevowel's entry is coming up next, and Uglygreenjacket closes this party after that, and it's been a frigging DELIGHT doing this with these wonderful, amazing women. So please check those out, too, because this is a collection of works!
> 
> Please, let me know what you thought of it (and this whole project!), as always, because reviews are love!
> 
> (And yes, I know, the end is very open again, lol, but I love them like this, and would love to hear your interpretations ; ) - of this world, of the state of their future after this end, of what made him break, of how long it took to finally open up after this and spill his beans and what it took for him not only to break in this but also to stay, of how this went on from there !)


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